


Yes Sam

by lilsmartass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Family, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, implicit non con, implicit prositution, implicit slavery, mild AU, nothing graphich but still obviously fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Written for this prompt on the kinkmeme: When Sam dies Dean makes a different kind of deal to get him back. He agrees to be the YED's slave for 4 months. Same comes back and Dean disappears. The YED takes him to hell, where he spends 4 months (40 years)as his slave. When Dean's time is finally up he is returned to a Sam who isn't sure how to deal with a brother so drastically changed. Dean knows he's free now, but conditioning and an altered world view make him treat Sam like his master, including offering himself for sexual use all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Hard R  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the SPN characters, though I’d love a Winchester for my birthday.   
> Warning/Spoilers: Adult themes, implications of dub/non con, one minor suggestion of prostitution and a sort-of reference to water sports. This picks up after AHBL part 1, and sees Dean make a different deal with different consequences, there are some changes to canon events e.g. John is still in hell. This is a very mild AU.  
> Genre: family, angst, hut/comfort, drama, dark, angst

**Yes Sam**

 

Dean had been missing for so long, that in his heart, Sam was not actually expecting to find him. He still wasn’t exactly sure what had happened at Cold Oak, but between the scar on his back and what Bobby had said, and what he _hadn’t_ said, Sam could guess. Could guess all too well. And the fact that he hadn’t even been left with a body like they had with John rankled, but ultimately, it was not unexpected. Demons liked to play mind-games after all. And though the part of him that had been forged in his father’s fiery fury to find what had killed their mother, and tempered by his own equally fervent desire to hunt it when it killed Jess urged him to go after the creature that had done this, had orchestrated it, he didn’t. Couldn’t. Not while there was the slightest chance Dean could still be alive.

So, though Sam wasn’t expecting anything, he still followed the tenuous lead Bobby had dug up to the old warehouse on the docks. He was packing, salt, iron, silver, all bases covered. A careless hunter was a dead hunter. And his brother’s Impala, parked loyally outside, waiting her true driver was stocked with medical supplies, food and blankets. Just in case he found Dean. Just in case Dean needed them. But, as the white blue beam of his torch flickered over dust and untouched planks and boxes, he no longer held any true hope.

The movement from behind startled him into a graceless pirouette and he fired off a shot that was too late and too wide. The sort of shot that was only worth anything if it served as a distraction, a warning, a direction for your partner to move in for the kill. Except that Sam no longer had a partner. With a carless sweep of its hand, Sam was pinned against the wall, struggling helplessly and snarling with fury when a pair of yellow eyes loomed out of the dark.

“Sammy,” it greeted, conversationally.

Sam hissed and swore, and its smile widened as it gestured again. Sam braced himself for the pain he had seen Dean endure when it had possessed John, but there was nothing. Instead, two more shapes loomed out of the darkness, dragging a third between them. The third shape was bent and crumpled, not unconscious, but mostly unaware, _drugged_ , Sam’s mind automatically supplied, but even so. Even pliant and malleable, hunched in between his guards and thinner than Sam had ever seen him Sam would recognise that profile anywhere. “Dean,” he breathed, surging forward, only to be brought up short by the demon power holding him still. His dark gaze shot back to the demon’s face. His expression reflected nothing but a blazing fury, but Azazel had known the Winchester family well, he knew the anger was nothing more than a mask for the boy’s fear. “What have you done to him?”

“I have filled my part of the bargain he made,” Azazel smirked.

“...He made?”

“Yes. Dean here traded his life for yours when you were killed by my boy Jake. He says hi by the way. He’s not the ruler you would have been, but he’s more than adequate.”

One of the figures flanking Dean raised its head and bared its teeth at Sam in a parody of a smile. Vaguely Sam recognised the twisted features as belonging to the young soldier, but his attention was only for Azazel and Dean he had none to spare for anyone else so he ignored the creature and asked. “But he’s alive?” He couldn’t keep an edge of fear from sharpening his voice into a question.

Yellow Eyes chuckled paternally. “Oh yes Sammy. He’s alive. His trade was less literal. He traded his free will, he’s been my slave these past...forty years.”

Again Sam’s face crumpled with a confusion he made no attempt to hide. “Forty...years? It hasn’t been-”

“Not for you. Hell time works differently. Daddy says hi by the way. Pity you stopped Jake here from opening the devil’s gate. He’d sussed my plan and was planning on storming out alongside the demons.”

A flutter of too many emotions to parse jolted Sam’s heart and stomach, but his eyes sought his brother of their own accord, and John was dead and Dean was here and he’d always been trained to deal with the living before he mourned the dead, so, despite the welling of tears, he ignored the taunt and said softly, “Dean would never agree to be your slave. Never.”

“Oh please Sammy. It’s not even the first time Dean’s sold himself for you. He’d do anything for you. I’ve had him prove that over and over again.” The lustful twinkle in the demon’s eyes was too much and once again Sam surged forward with a roar. “Now boy, that’s enough. His time is up, but I have until midnight to make him prove his obedience if you make me.”

It was the hardest thing Sam had ever done, but he forced himself to stillness. He wouldn’t give this bastard a reason to humiliate Dean in front of him. He wouldn’t. “Let him go,” he demanded. Azazel snapped his fingers and the demons flanking Dean let him go. He took a single staggering pace and fell to his knees at the demons feet. He bowed his head respectfully and waited. Azazel flashed bloody teeth at Sam. “Let him _go_ ,” the younger Winchester demanded once more, muscles cording as he tensed against the power he knew he must not struggle against.

“Say please.”

Sam’s eyes flashed, but as they landed on his kneeling brother, he knew Dean would - and had - done more for him. “Please,” he said, so softly it could barely be heard.

Azazel sneered, but didn’t ask him to repeat himself. “Dean,” he said to the figure in front of him.

“Yes Master?”

“I’m going to leave you now. You’re to go with this man, understand?”

A sliver of green peeked hastily upward before darting back to the ground. “Yes Master,” Dean repeated in the same uninflected voice.

Azazel dropped a hand onto Dean’s head, caressing his hair for a moment before straightening. With a gesture, the power holding Sam disappeared, dumping the younger man on the floor. By the time he had caught his breath and looked up, the three demons had melted away into the darkness.

Forgetting about them, Sam crawled forward to Dean, and, unable to help himself, enveloped his brother in a tight hug. “Thank God you’re OK,” he said. “I was- I was worried man. You don’t get to disappear on me.” In his arms, Dean was placid and pliant, but unmoving. Uncertainly, Sam drew back. “Dean?”

“Yes Master?”

Sam drew back as though slapped. “No,” he barked out.

Dean flinched, but didn’t recoil though his face whitened and his eyes rounded with fear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No,” said Sam again, sucking in a breath and striving for a calm he didn’t feel. “I’m not your master Dean. I’m your brother. I’m Sam.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah Dean. It’s me. It’s Sammy.”

Dean’s face closed. An instinctive action Sam had seen a thousand times before when Dean didn’t want the world, or his brother, to see his pain. “I know Sammy isn’t real,” he said, in a stilted voice, but still one that had more emotion than his uninflected tone of acquiescence. “I know no one would want to be my brother, that I’m not a hero that needed to sacrifice myself for something. I know I’m too useless to be anything other than a pretty slave. You don’t have to play these games with me. I’m already trained. I’ll be good. You don’t need to do this.”

The worst thing was that Sam recognised the tone. He couldn’t pretend that this wasn’t his brother, couldn’t pretend demonic torture had destroyed the man he knew. That was the tone Dean had used to convince teachers that he knew ghosts weren’t real he was just making up stories to scare his little brother, that he’d used to explain to dad that he knew they had to move that the hunt went on, but couldn’t they stay just one more week so Sam could go to the prom, that he’d used when explaining to Sam why he could never have normal friends. It was Dean’s I’ve been trained to say this and to make you believe it voice. Sam felt physically ill.

He didn’t reach for his brother’s face or hair to comfort him because the Dean he knew wouldn’t have wanted that, and he didn’t think he could stand this Dean letting him. “Dean no that’s...I’m real. I am. I swear.”

Dean shrugged. “Yes Master.”

“Dean- Dean...look at me.”

Instantly Dean’s eyes locked onto his, and, even though it was what he had wanted, Sam’s stomach rolled at the speed with which his ever defiant brother followed the order. He’d always accused Dean of being the obedient soldier, but he’d never before acted like this. But he said nothing, not wanting to startle him. “Do you recognise me?”

Dean nodded, eyes wide and guileless, “Sure, you’re my Master.”

Sam’s lips tightened, but he forced himself to relax as Dean tensed in obvious fear against his anger. “Right, we’ll talk about this later. Let’s...let’s get you in the car. You remember the ‘pala yeah? Your baby. I’ve kept her in good shape for you. Bobby helped.” He stood, gesturing encouragingly for Dean to follow. After a couple of steps he realised there was no presence at his back and froze, turning. Dean was following, but instead of having stood, he was simply crawling along behind Sam.

Sam felt his stomach turn. He really wasn’t sure how to deal this. He had no idea what to do with his big brother when he was so reduced. He was hopeless when Dean was sick or hurt for goodness sake, he never had any idea of what to do with Dean when he was less than his stoic obnoxious self and this was...well, worse. “Dammit Dean,” he growled, helplessly.

Once again, Dean’s eyes widened, and Dean should know he never had to be afraid of him, should have more self awareness than to show it even if he was, “I’m sorry,” Dean said again, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “Please don’t punish me Master, I’m sorry. Just tell me what to do, I’ll do anything you ask, just tell me, please Master.”

The sound of his brother begging for orders made Sam retch a little, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking advantage of it. “Call me Sam, Dean. Not master, Sam. Or Sammy, just not- don’t call me that, OK?” Dean nodded, wide eyed, and closing his eyes against the knowledge that he was using Dean’s obvious conditioning against him just to make himself more comfortable he added quickly, “and stand up. You don’t have to crawl for me Dean. Not ever. Understand?”

“Yes Ma- Sam. Yes Sam,” Dean said, standing quickly.

Sam led him to the car without further incident, and though, in the recesses of his mind where he kept his most private daydreams he had imagined finding Dean and his brother claiming his rightful place at the wheel, he got his brother into the passenger seat. His eyes teared up again when Dean needed him to buckle the belt for him, clearly having no idea what to do with it. He didn’t want to know how exactly Azazel had had Dean when they had need of travelling in a car, but the way his brother’s eyes kept glancing into the footwell of the backseats made Sam sure it had been in some dehumanising position.

He drove to the nearest motel and hastily booked a room. He had plenty of cash, so they could stay as long as they needed. After a moment of thought, he dropped Bobby a text to say he was fine and following a lead so he may drop off the grid for a while. He would have loved the old hunter’s help and the security of Singer Salvage was the nearest thing Dean had to a home outside of this car, but unless he was totally unable to help Dean himself, he was unwilling to expose his brother to others like this. He had no doubt that Azazel had taken pleasure in parading him through Hell; he had no intention of doing the same.

The drive, though awkward, and filled with many sideways glances at his uncharacteristically silent passenger had given him time to think and to relax. Bundling Dean into the room and sitting him on one bed, he sat across from him and said, “Right Dean. I need-” he broke off with a choked sob and ruthlessly forced down the concerned brother part of his mind, becoming instead the focussed hunter with a puzzle to solve, “I need to know what you’ve been trained to do, or I won’t know what you find confusing. Can you tell me that?”

Dean looked hesitant, like he was certain this was a trap. “I’ve been trained to do everything and anything my Master needs me to do.”

“Right, but what...specifically? How did Azazel like you to act?”

“I- He liked me kneeling at all times in his presence.” Sam’s frown deepened and Dean rushed on, “but you said I didn’t have to, you sat here, I’m sorry Mas- Sam,” he started to slide from the bed to the floor.

Sam shot out a hand to hold him in place, “Dean, no. You’re doing the right thing, just sit there. Tell me what else.”

“He...I had to follow his orders, sometimes he’d give me orders just to test me, to make sure I was paying attention. And I had to make him comfortable, fetch his tools and things without being asked. He liked me to pleasure him, when he was working at a desk, or at night, he’d have me suck him and-”

“That’s enough Dean,” Sam rapped out sharply. “That’s fine...that’s all I needed to hear.” He stood and paced in a tight circle, one hand fisting in his hair as he wondered what to do, wondered how to break conditioning that had taken half a lifetime to instil. “Are you hungry?” he asked after a second, not knowing what else to do.

“I-”

Dean hesitated, something Sam hadn’t yet heard him do and he spun around, fighting yet again to keep the fury from his face as he took in the sight of Dean’s wary eyes. His brother was clearly starving, yet unwilling to admit it, perhaps afraid of what he would have to do to earn it. Which, Sam supposed, was good in a round-about way, it meant there was still something in there of the brother he remembered. In a quick stride, he crossed the room to his brother who dropped his head to hide the longing in his eyes. Sam crouched down, putting Dean in the higher position as he knelt in front of him to catch his gaze, “It’s OK Dean. I’m your- I just want you to be OK. If you’re hungry, you can eat. It won’t cost you anything.”

“I-” said Dean again, then he sighed. It was clear from his eyes he didn’t believe Sam’s words but he relented anyway and said, “Thank you Sam. I guess some bread would be nice. Please.”

“I think we can do better than that,” Sam tried to smile, but it came out weak and watery, “How about a double bacon cheeseburger? Although...when was the last time you ate? I don’t want you getting sick.”

Once again, his brother’s eyes widened with an apprehension he felt sick seeing. “I...I was being punished. I spoke out of turn and I...I’m not supposed to eat again until I’ve learned my lesson.”

Sam strove not to react. “Well fine, punishment’s over now Dean. But I think we’ll hold off on that burger. Maybe next week when you’re used to food again OK?”

Without thinking, Dean flung himself from the bed to land at Sam’s feet. “It doesn’t have to be a burger, but please let me eat tonight, please, I’ll be good. I’ll do anything you say, just one piece of bread, please, please.” The sight of his brother on his knees, literally begging for food, was so horrifying that for a second Sam didn’t even notice the nimble fingers at his fly until they started stroking his cock. He jerked back, kicking out reflexively, only calming when he saw Dean cringing on the floor, weeping.

“Dean I- We’re brothers. That means you can’t touch me there. Not ever.”

Dean nodded, “I won’t, I won’t, not ever again, I won’t, I’m sorry, please...”

Sam cut him off. “It’s fine; just...you don’t have to do that Dean. You’re safe now. And of course you can eat tonight, and tomorrow morning, have a midnight snack if you feel like, I just don’t think we should tax your stomach if it’s been a while. I’ve got soup and crackers in the car. I’ll just be a few minutes OK?” Dean nodded, still on the floor, and Sam stepped across to him, lifting him up by the arm and suppressing a flash of pain as his brother flinched from his touch. “It’s OK Dean,” he promised again. Not sure what else to do, he headed out to the car for the food.

When he returned, Dean was in the exact place he had been left, standing uncertainly in the centre of the room. When Sam came back in he made a valiant attempt to meet his eyes, even though his face was still wet with tears. “Would you like me to cook that for you Sam?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll do it.” Sam brushed past him, clasping his shoulder briefly until he felt Dean’s knees beginning to buckle again, thinking that was what he wanted from the slight pressure. As he started warming the soup he became aware of Dean still standing, nervously twisting his hands. “Dean,” he said, he didn’t want to ask, but he had to know, “You said Azazel was punishing you...did he often punish you?”

Dean shook his head so violently Sam was surprised he didn’t hurt himself. “No, no, I’m a good slave, pretty, well trained, I’m a good slave Sam, I promise.”

“That’s not what I meant Dean. I meant...are you hurt? Do you have any injuries you need me to look at?”

“I...no. The scars from my last whipping are all healed now.”

Sam gripped the kitchen counter top so hard the plastic squeaked and his hand went white. “Whipping?”

“Do you want to see?”

There was trepidation in Dean’s voice, but Sam ignored it. “Yes.”

Dean pivoted on his heel, graceful as Sam remembered and pulled his shirt smoothly over his head. His back was a mess of fine silver white lines. “Most of those are from training,” Dean babbled nervously, “I know it seems like there’s a lot, but they’re from when I didn’t know how to be a good slave. I’m better now. I can be good now. You don’t need to send me back or send me to a whorehouse.”

Sam’s hand, which had been gently exploring his brother’s back clenched again, and Sam pulled back to stop himself from hurting Dean. “Send you _where_?” He demanded.

Dean flinched but answered steadily, “Master used to say that that would be all I was good for if I couldn’t please him as a slave, being sent to a whorehouse. And you’re my Master now, even if you don’t like to be called that, but it’s OK. You don’t need to send me to a whorehouse, I’m good now. Master showed me how to be good, and even if it did take a long time and a lot of whippings because I’m stupid, it was worth it to know I can please my Master properly.”

Sam didn’t even know where to start dealing with all the problems in that statement. “You’re not stupid and I won’t send you to a whore house,” he promised, leaning forward to rest his forehead briefly against Dean’s shoulder, drawing strength from his brother even though it was obvious Dean had none to spare. He couldn’t keep a few tears from sliding from beneath his closed eyelids.

Dean turned to him and touched his face hesitantly, before drawing uncertainly back. Sam considered it progress that he didn’t panic at the idea that he might have upset him. Minor progress, but progress. “What’s wrong Sam?” he asked, and Sam had to turn away and move back to the soup, now simmering merrily, to hide the clench of pain the familiar question brought forward.

“You’re my brother Dean. I hate thinking what he did to you for you to say things like that, like they’re _normal_.”

“He made me a good slave so I could please my Master,” Dean said complacently. “He gave me a purpose.”

“You _have_ purpose: saving people, hunting things. You’re a hero Dean, you’re my big brother, you’re nobody’s slave. You’re free.”

The half look Dean shot Sam from under his eye lashes was another expression Sam had seen too many times. The expression Dean had worn when he thought Dad was testing them. “Yes Sam,” he agreed.

Sam shook his head, and poured the soup into a bowl. “Here,” he said. “Sit down and eat something.” His tone was roughly affectionate, something Dean would have understood, but this creature looked startled at the sudden shift from discussion to orders and took the bowl, heedless of how hot it must be, and dropped into a yoga position on the floor to begin eating. He kept his eyes on his food, no longer making any attempt to look at Sam. Sam bit back the desire to say Dean could sit where he wanted, he knew it would only confuse him more. “I’m going to have a shower,” he said, to fill the silence. “Do whatever you want when you’ve finished that, watch some TV, go to bed whatever but don’t...” he swallowed, hating what he was about to say, hating that he was once again taking advantage of Dean’s condition, but he was so very vulnerable right now, and the Winchesters had far, far too many enemies, “but don’t go out of the room or answer the door to anyone.”

Dean still didn’t look up, “Yes Sam,” he agreed.

The next morning, while Sam loaded the car, Dean cleaned the room, even making Sam’s bed.

There was something about that which viscerally horrified Sam, Dean had always taken care of him, always, but he had never served him so obviously before. It was slavish in a way nothing else had been, even the begging and crying and offering to suck his cock could be put down to torture, but this was done with the same calm efficiency with which Dean cleaned the weapons, or tuned up the Impala. Sam tightened his lips and said nothing, though he wanted to cry and scream, and loaded Dean into the car. He had no particular destination in mind, but if anything would be familiar to his brother, it would be speeding down a highway while one of his tapes played, and Sam would listen to _Houses of the Holy_ a thousand times, a hundred thousand times, if it would bring his brother back.

Throughout the drive, he kept up a stream of mindless chatter. Reminding Dean of songs, people, places, hunts, their childhood, anything and everything, and if each of his questions was answered with a bob of the head and a mild “Yes Sam,” that made his fingers tighten on the wheel, well...at least he felt like he was doing something.

After that first day, Sam always told his brother to get in the car first, not giving him a chance to clear up after Sam. He stopped for food frequently, never allowing Dean to order much at one sitting to try and accustom him to regular food again, but also not wanting his brother to be hungry, and after a painfully awkward incident which made him sit and cry for the better part of an hour while Dean rubbed a frantic hand over his shoulder, he was mindful to ask Dean if he needed the bathroom, knowing Dean would never ask for himself.

On the fifth day, he became aware of Dean shooting him speculative glances out of the corner of his eye. He said nothing, waiting for Dean to come up with what he wanted to say on his own, knowing if he pushed him, his brother would simply retreat still further into himself. At last, after the longest afternoon Sam could ever remember, Dean said softly, “Can I have that cheeseburger today?”

Sam turned to look at him with such naked surprise that he half expected Dean to backpedal, but his brother cautiously met his eyes. Sam opened his mouth, fully ready to agree to anything that had gotten Dean to ask for something for himself, when he caught sight of a familiar flicker in the green eyes. Dean was testing _him_. Carefully, he pulled the car over so he could give Dean his full attention. “Do you really want it?” he asked candidly, “Or do you just want to know if I’ll give it to you?” The way Dean looked away answered that question. He started to mumble an apology, but Sam talked over him. “Dean...when you believe I have no rules for you, and won’t punish you...will you run away from me?”

“You said I was free,” Dean countered.

Sam almost smiled at the familiar cocky tone. “I did. And you are. And if you don’t want to be with me, you don’t have to; you can walk away right now. You don’t need to go through a lot of pointless tests with me.” The words hurt like burning to say. _Jesus fuck, how did Dean let me go to Stanford if he felt even half of this._ Dean held his place, though whether from fear, uncertainty or curiosity, Sam wasn’t sure. He hurried on, “But...Dean I know you don’t remember...but we used to be friends, partners, not just brothers. I want you to stay with me so we can be that again. I want to help you.” Dean said nothing, but his gaze was less wary now, instead it was assessing. Sam held himself open, staring into his brother’s eyes, letting Dean read everything he felt there, letting him see all the emotions Winchesters simply did not admit to. “Do you really want a cheeseburger? Or do you want to go?” he asked again. “I swear I’ll let you.”

The silence drew out still longer, until Sam was certain Dean was going to get out of the car. Then, “Cheeseburger,” his brother said softly. He stopped, took a deep breath, flexed his shoulder minutely in one of the few tells of nervousness Dean had always displayed under pressure and added, “Bitch.”

Sam’s heart stopped in his chest and a smile he had no chance of restraining burst across his face. He turned away, looking out of the windscreen and starting the car. “Alright then Jerk,” he said, voice choked with too many emotions to name. “Let’s get you a cheeseburger,” and he turned the car towards South Dakota and drove.   


End file.
